Serving A Purpose
by wintersongs
Summary: "Leather straps held her down against a cold metal table, constricting around her neck, chest, wrists, and legs. The more she struggled, the tighter they felt, and she felt the onslaught of panic and adrenaline, already working their way through her system. You could only struggle against your constraints for so long before you realized you were completely helpless." BELLARKE.
1. Prologue

**Hello everyone, here I am releasing the first chapter of my newest story for "The 100," unable to believe that this is my third story, woah. Not much to say here except that I won't be able to focus on this one much until I finish a some more of my other two fanfic stories, but I want to at least get a little bit of my Bellarke obsession out of my system, so here you go!**

 **Title:** Serving A Purpose (tentative, I'm not really sure I like the title yet..)  
 **Series:** The 100  
 **Rating:** T (for violence & language)  
 **Pairing:** Bellarke  
 **Summary: "** Leather straps held her down against a cold metal table, constricting around her neck, chest, wrists, and legs. The more she struggled, the tighter they felt, and she felt the onslaught of panic and adrenaline, already working their way through her system. You could only struggle against your constraints for so long before you realized you were completely helpless." Rated T (language & violence, maybe a lil lemon slice later). Pairing: BELLARKE.  
 **Disclaimer:** I do not own The 100 or anything affiliated with it. I am just a severely bored fan with too much time on my hands. Here you go.

 **Please review! I always love your feedback and your predictions about whats going to happen next, but I'll shut up now! Enjoy the prologue of "Serving A Purpose"**

* * *

Clarke Griffin did not like being restrained.

 _Did. Not. Like._

Leather straps held her down against a cold metal table, constricting around her neck, chest, wrists, and legs. The more she struggled, the tighter they felt, and she felt the onslaught of panic and adrenaline, already working their way through her system. You could only struggle against your constraints for so long before you realized you were completely helpless. The room began to seem like it was closing in on her, and she could feel the pace of her heartbeat quicken, bursting in her chest like a frightened bird trying to escape a cage.

 _Think Clarke, think._

But she could think of nothing, and that frightened her even more.

She'd gotten caught "exploring" the underground facilities of Mount Weather, searching for something that would affirm her gut-clenching instinct that something wasn't right there. And then she found her answer: the room where dozens of grounders were being drained of blood. When she turned to run out of the room, to tell her friends, to get out of there before she released the contents of her stomach, she'd run into two Mount Weather guards, there for a security sweep about the floor.

 _That_ hadn't gone over well.

So they knocked her out, and when she woke, she had a suspicion that her fate would be quite similar to that of the captured grounders. She would soon realize that she might much rather that fate than the one she was chosen for.

"Clarke Griffin," Cage Wallace drawled as he sauntered into the room, with Dr. Tsing ever-present at his shoulder. "You've become a major thorn in my side."

"What the hell are you doing to them?" she spit out between gritted teeth, seething with pure anger. Anyone capable of human emotion would feel compassion for what the Mountain Men were doing to the grounders, even their enemies. _The enemy of my enemy is my friend_ _,_ Clarke remembered Finn saying, what felt like eons ago. Perhaps if she ever escaped, she could free the grounders as well as her people, and they could unite against their common enemy. Maybe, this is what they needed.

"The grounders, as your people call them, are serving a purpose," he walked up to a small table next to her and gestured to Dr. Tsing to begin while he pulled on a pair of sterile gloves. The doctor grabbed a small bottle and filled a syringe with an opaque liquid, smiling down at Clarke with a disturbingly misplaced sense of bedside manner. When she finished, she handed it to Cage, who turned to Clarke with a menacing gleam in his eyes.

"You, however, are proving to be more difficult than you're worth. But maybe we can change that."

He flicked the needle, and she could feel her heart in her throat. Whatever they were going to do to her wasn't going to be pretty. She just hoped this would buy her friends some more time before they bled them out too.

"You'll be my best weapon yet," he whispered in her ear before stabbing her in the neck with the syringe.

* * *

 **A/N: Woo! Alright, hope you enjoyed! There's more to come, so look forward to that! Drop me a review if you liked it, still kinda iffy about whether I really wanna delve into this one right now.**


	2. Chapter 1: Pleasure & Pain

**Title:** Serving A Purpose (tentative, I'm not really sure I like the title yet..)  
 **Series:** The 100  
 **Rating:** T (for violence & language)  
 **Pairing:** Bellarke  
 **Summary: "** Leather straps held her down against a cold metal table, constricting around her neck, chest, wrists, and legs. The more she struggled, the tighter they felt, and she felt the onslaught of panic and adrenaline, already working their way through her system. You could only struggle against your constraints for so long before you realized you were completely helpless." Rated T (language & violence, maybe a lil lemon slice later). Pairing: BELLARKE.  
 **Disclaimer:** I do not own The 100 or anything affiliated with it. I am just a severely bored fan with too much time on my hands. Here you go.

 **Enjoy chapter 1! Read and review, love your feedback as always! Thanks to everyone who has review thus far, you're angels :)**

* * *

Images flashed by her eyes like snapshots as she raced through the dark forest, trees breezing by her as her feet pounded into the ground. Her lungs screamed in protest; she'd been running for a while now, her once pristine, white hospital gown now stained with dirt and blood. She couldn't remember if it was her own, or that of her captors, but she wasn't stopping to find out. They were hot on her heels, and freedom tasted too sweet for her to hesitate and give them the chance they needed.

The sound of voices shouting, and twigs snapping beneath feet caught her attention. They were getting closer; Clarke could see dark figures dancing in her peripherals. A split-second decision to peer over her shoulder at her pursuers caused her to lose her footing, and sent her tripping over a raised tree root, spiraling down a muddy slope. She scrambled to pick herself back up and took off again in the same direction, praying that her stumble didn't give the Mountain Men an advantage.

Her memories of escaping were hazy, almost nonexistent. One moment she was lying on a cool, metal table, and the next she was running through the forest, her long hair, a stream of white flying behind her in the darkness. It only took a millisecond for her to decide that remembering how she escaped was unimportant; it only mattered that she did, and that she survived. But she didn't know where she could escape _to_.

 _That_ , was a problem.

The Mountain Men knew about the drop ship; it wasn't safe there. She could return for supplies, if there were any left, but she couldn't stay there. And she couldn't exactly waltz around the forest in hopes of finding or making new shelter; the grounders that survived would surely take that as a grand opportunity for revenge.

Her friends were being held captive, whether they knew it or not. Her family was dead. The Ark was in pieces. Finn and Bellamy had been burned alive _because of her_.

Clarke felt a lump forming in her throat as the realization hit her: _She had no home to return to._

Maybe she should just let the Mountain Men take her back, let them kill her. She knew her chances of surviving were slim to none. She could keep running, straight into the hands of the Grounders and warn them about what the Mountain Men were doing to their people, and hope that they spared her life with that information. Or she could turn around, and run straight back into the hands of the Mount Weather guards, and have Cage Wallace tamper with her mind again until he drove her to madness, then drain her of every last drop of blood in her body.

Her choices _sucked_.

She felt an ache forming in her temples, growing so painful at times that it would blind her. Each thud of her foot hitting the ground made the pain grow worse. Her heart was beating so powerfully, she felt that it would jump out of her chest. But it wasn't the force of it that scared her; it was the incredibly fast pace, and the cold sweat sending chills down her spine. She knew what an adrenaline rush felt like after so many near-death experiences during those first few days on Earth with the 100; she knew the symptoms of panic. She'd trained on the Ark to become a doctor, after all. Constant cases of claustrophobia well-acquainted her with the knowledge of anxiety attacks, and how to handle them, personally and professionally.

What she was feeling, was classified as none of the above.

She'd seen the effects first-hand while Cage had her trapped in that room like an animal, a large glass window giving her a front-row view of his twisted plans. Even through a drug-induced haze, she knew what was happening before her.

He was creating reapers.

At first, Clarke was disgusted. She watched him turn grounders into true savages; watched them kill each other for a dose of the drug. Watched Cage stand by with a satisfied smirk on his face, as if he were proud of himself for creating these monstrosities. But very soon, she would begin to relate to them, _too_ _soon_. She was at the mercy of that twisted bastard, and he was enjoying it. He messed with her mind, made her do things she wasn't proud of, and see things that caused pain she could never describe to another human being. It was like a form of personalized torture, designed to destroy you from the inside out, using past regrets and your loved ones as weapons against your mind.

In one of the few brief moments of clarity where she was herself, not trapped in the pain and hallucinations, she felt shame. Because the worst of it, the worst thing she'd seen, wasn't a delusion. It was real.

It was her own hands clawing against the glass when Cage pulled the syringe out of his suit pocket.

* * *

When the Mountain Men caught up to her, she was writhing on the ground, the powerful effects of withdrawal from the drug consuming her. Or perhaps her symptoms were caused by lingering traces of the drug in her system, she couldn't be sure.

Nevertheless, she was trapped in her own mind, seeing the images of her friends hanging upside down under fluorescent lights, tubes draining every last trace of blood from their bodies. Her hands clawed at the hanging cage enclosing her, but the reality of her situation hit her like a boulder; she could do nothing to save them. When they'd all been killed, and she was the last one left, the door to her cage finally came loose, and she was sent spiraling to the cold metal of the lab floor below her. But she didn't land on cool metal.

She landed on the charred bodies of the grounders she'd give the order to burn alive.

And when the shock finally dissipated, when she finally _realized_ what she was resting on, she scrambled off the pile of death. She tried to stand up, but her legs wouldn't hold her weight, so she kept crawling away until she could move no longer, until she had to stop to release the contents of her stomach onto the ground, feeling as though this horrible nightmare might never end.

When she stopped retching, she looked up, expecting to see the dropship nearby, but found only three guns trained on her, their owners watching her as if she were some sort of rabid animal. Which she guessed she was, in a way.

"Just kill me already," she rasped, her throat raw from crying or vomiting, she wasn't sure. Their guns were a welcome sight.

The three men just watched her, silently, as another hazmat-suited figure approached, flanked by two more guards wielding guns.

"Don't listen to her boys, she'll be taking those words back in a few moments," his voice sounded as if it had been amplified one-hundred times in the silent forest. She knew why he was there, what he was going to do and she dreaded it. But she also embraced it, because she knew that she would be administered the serum, her heaven and hell. At first the drug would bring the pain and madness. Then after a while, a feeling of pure bliss and relaxation.

But as her body adjusted, as she was given more frequent doses, the period between pain and pleasure seemed to be diminishing, and she was becoming dependent. And with dependency came powerful and traumatic withdrawal symptoms, almost as bad as the pain the drug used to give her during her first few tests.

"I like the results we've been getting from you Clarke," Cage drawled as he closed in on her, casually waving a syringe around as he spoke. She knew by now she had to endure the pain to feel the pleasure, so she waited for him to come to her. That's how this worked. If she didn't cooperate, they'd zap their little frequency mechanisms, leaving her paralyzed with the fear of what that noise promised. She still had enough reason to control herself that much. "So, you're not leaving just yet. Grab her," he ordered, and the suited figures around him snapped into action, cuffing her wrists behind her.

"Just kill me!" she ordered, but it was beginning to sound more like she was begging.

"No, no. That would be too easy, Clarke. You've got more purpose than that," Cage said as he walked up to her, a sadistic gleam in his eye. "You've got more...potential than than the others. In fact, I think you're ready for our next phase."

She felt her breath catch in her throat, knowing that their next phase would likely involve stripping her of every last drop of sanity she possessed.

"We're going to prolong the period between dose administrations. Let's see how long you can endure the pain before you go mad."

* * *

It didn't take much longer for Cage Wallace to feel satisfied with the results of his tests. She was completely dominated by the drive they'd instilled in her, her new purpose. Her mind had been completely ruined, utterly and perfectly, to the point that she had completely lost the essence of who Clarke Griffin was.

She was no longer a level-headed leader. She'd been pushed to the brink of madness, fighting the new reality they created for her, until she could fight it no more, and had succumbed to their wishes. She'd become a volatile entity, completely uncontrollable and unreasonable. She had no sense of right and wrong, good or bad, yes or no.

Really, she had no _sense_ of anything at all.

"Clarke, my dear," Cage began, as if he were talking to a child and not a human weapon. She thrashed against her constraints, eager for what she knew he would provide. He walked toward where she had been chained to the wall of her cell, reaching into his pocket. "I need you to deliver a message for me, to the survivors of the Ark."

That sounded familiar to her for a moment, but her eyes had closed in on the item in his left hand as the words left his mouth, effectively cutting off any thought of familiarity. She lunged at him, an animalistic snarl escaping her lips as the all-too-familiar syringe came into view. He smirked, triumphantly, like this is the reaction he was waiting for.

She was perfect, everything he hoped she would be and more.

* * *

Bellamy Blake had a problem following orders. Especially now, when his friends were trapped inside a mountain and he was being told to stay at Camp Jaha and sit pretty while the adults take care of things.

"You're to stay here in the camp and recover. I can't tell you that enough. You've done greatly up until now, Bellamy, but we're here to take care of things like this now," Kane said evenly as they walked through camp together, discussing the plans to retrieve the remaining members of their population. It didn't seem like a discussion though, not to Bellamy. To him, it seemed more like an adult reprimanding a child.

"And I can't tell you enough," he started in a low, harsh voice, through gritted teeth, "that I won't just sit here and wait like an incompetent idiot. Finn and I know this terrain better than anyone in this camp. You'll tread into Grounder territory without even knowing it."

"You've forgotten that we have weapons-," Kane rebutted, only to be interrupted.

"So did we."

"More _advanced_ weapons, with _trained_ shooters. You were a group of unorganized children desperate to stay alive. And with all due respect, I don't think your friend is exactly fit to lead us through the forest at the moment." Kane gestured to Camp Jaha's makeshift hub, where they could distantly see Finn by the fire, a mug that was sure to be half-filled with moonshine lifted to his lips. Losing Clarke seemed to be taking a heavy toll on him.

Of course, it was bothering Bellamy too, but he seemed to be directing his frustration on a more worthwhile method of coping.

Bellamy grabbed the pseudo Chancellor's arm and brought his attention back to their conversation. "If you go out there without someone who knows the terrain like we do, it won't be a rescue mission. It'll be a suicide mission. You don't' want to lose anymore people than we already have; we won't stand a chance facing any outside threat with our numbers as it is."

Kane stared at him, weighing his options. There was no way Finn would be joining their trip outside the fence; he wasn't sure he could be trusted behind a gun, let alone to stand on his own two feet properly. But Bellamy was a different story; he'd been trained by the guard on the Ark, he knew their protocols and how to wield a weapon. And he helped keep the majority of the 100 alive, albeit missing at the moment.

"You, I'll take with me, but one wrong step, and you've given me all the excuse I need to send you right back to Camp Jaha _where you will stay_ until my word is given," Kane told him, his tone and eyes serious, each word promising to carry out his threat should he not cooperate.

"Alright. When do we leave?"

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Remember to review, and let me know what you think/predictions for the next chapter!**


	3. Chapter 2: The Reunion

**Hi, so I haven't updated this in a while, but I got a little bout of inspiration so I thought I'd just throw this up here. I don't really know if I'll be updating this frequently from this point on, this might just be a one-off but I had some free time, so here you go!**

 **Let me know what you think!**

* * *

She ran through the forest, like a vicious animal on the hunt, unrestrained and lethal to anyone who crossed her path. She could feel her clothes catch on branches, but she paid no mind to it.

Or rather, she really had no _mind_ to pay to it.

She was a shell, an empty husk of the being she once was. They'd ruined her and rebuilt her to be the perfect monster; any trace of Clarke Griffin was gone.

Her feet pounded against the wet earth in a frantic rhythm as she tripped and stomped over roots and rocks. What was left of her mind could only register one fact: deliver the message and be rewarded. There was only one reward she desperately craved, _would kill for_ , and even though she was on a high, her body couldn't help but shake with anticipation at the thought of the next.

 _Deliver the message and be rewarded. Deliver the message and be rewarded._

* * *

Bellamy couldn't relax. No matter how much he tried to focus on his surroundings, no matter how many times Kane approached him with a hand on his shoulder and told him to focus. _He couldn't._

It all felt wrong; they were close to Mount Weather, but the forest was too quiet. He was waiting for an onslaught of acid fog, or men in hazmat suits with rifles, but nothing came. Bellamy was always on edge, but this made him feel like he was dangling over it.

"Something's not right," he said quietly to Kane, who stood beside him as they led the group. "We're close, but it's too quiet."

"The closer we get to Mount Weather, the closer we get to your friends."

"You don't get it," Bellamy shook his head, then smirked and added, "Yet."

Kane smiled at this, but his attention was quickly pulled away when one of the guards approached and told them that they lost transmission on the walkies. Bellamy felt his stomach drop; that had happened just as they'd lost Monty, what felts like weeks ago.

"Keep everyone at a shouting distance, no one strays far enough away that we can't see them."

"Yes, sir."

Bellamy knew they were way too close now, but going back wasn't an option. The mountain men were drawing them in for some reason, that was the only conclusion he could come to. The only thing that could make it clearer was if they posted a sign that said 'Welcome, intruders!' It was driving him crazy.

The only person who he knew would feel the same way was locked in that mountain. He knew Clarke would feel the same way, one look passing between them would tell him all he'd need to know. But she wasn't with him, and every time he thought of her he felt like there was a gaping hole in his chest. She was the perfect counter to his quick temper, the only person he let talk back to him without physical retaliation, and he'd gotten accustomed to her being in his space.

Something in the distance caught his attention, and when he focused on it, he began to wonder if he was delusional. Was that _Clarke_ , or was he delusional enough for his mind to conjure up a hallucination of her running toward him? No, it wasn't a delusion, because he heard the sound of guns shifting behind him; the rest of his party had seen her too.

"Don't fire! DO NOT SHOOT!" he yelled at them as he ran forward to meet her halfway, his heart beating wildly in his chest. _She escaped, she's okay._ His vision tunneled, until she was the only thing he could see, charging toward him at a dangerous speed. He didn't care if she knocked his teeth out in their collision, she's be in his arms in seconds and that's all his mind could process.

He slowed until he stood twenty yards from her, bracing himself for the impact of their reunion. She was getting closer, he could make out her features now; something seemed _off_ , but he wasn't mindful enough to give it a second thought. Maybe it was because her eyes seemed too bright, almost maniacal. Or maybe, it was the animal like snarl that warped her features. He didn't really care what it was.

That is, until her hands were gripping his throat.

* * *

 **A/N: Can you say cliffhanger? I definitely have to update this now, I can't leave you hanging I know! Your feedback really helps me though, so let me know what you think will happen, or what you think of my writing in general!**


	4. Chapter 3: Withdrawal

**Title:** Serving A Purpose

 **Series:** The 100  
 **Rating:** T (for violence & language)  
 **Pairing:** Bellarke  
 **Summary: "** Leather straps held her down against a cold metal table, constricting around her neck, chest, wrists, and legs. The more she struggled, the tighter they felt, and she felt the onslaught of panic and adrenaline, already working their way through her system. You could only struggle against your constraints for so long before you realized you were completely helpless." Rated T (language & violence, maybe a lil lemon slice later). Pairing: BELLARKE.  
 **Disclaimer:** I do not own The 100 or anything affiliated with it. I am just a severely bored fan with too much time on my hands. Here you go!

 **A/N: Well, its been a while, so sorry about that! But real life calls when it does, and its been a tough year. Making no promises here, but I hope I can get back to this story again! I enjoy writing it just as much as (I hope) you enjoy it!**

* * *

Everything about the situation unfolding around him seemed surreal. It felt like he was watching the scene from the sidelines, instead of being the motionless figure pinned to the damp ground by a blonde haired, wild-eyed girl. "Get her off him!" he could hear someone yell in the distance behind him, but he didn't understand who they were referring to. Only when he began to feel the weight lift off his chest and the relieving flow of oxygen to his lungs begin again, did he come to his senses.

Two things were very clear to Bellamy in that moment.

One: Clarke was strangling him.  
Two: She wasn't _Clarke_.

He choked as he took shallow breaths in, his body struggling to compensate for the lack of oxygen. He turned his head to see two guards pinning Clarke down as she thrashed against their hold, kicking up leaves and dirt with her unpredictable movements. Bellamy stood slowly, watching her with eyes that didn't feel like his own anymore. _What happened to her?_

She screamed like a savage, saliva flying from her mouth, mud and leaves caked into her blonde hair. She was almost unrecognizable; her blue eyes no longer held the same fire and fight they used to. Now, they just looked desperate, almost empty.

The guards tried to keep her down, but it seemed like she would use any method necessary to free herself or inflict harm. One guard tried to hold her down by the shoulders, but Bellamy watched in horror as Clark brought her mouth to his hand and sunk her teeth into the flesh, tearing at the skin until the guard pulled away, screaming and holding his bloody hand. The group watched, stunned into silence. Clarke used this distraction to break free from the other guard's hold and wrestle her to the ground, grabbing a stone from the ground near her and lifting it into the air-

Bellamy sprang into action, sprinting and tackling Clarke to the ground. Under different circumstances, he would have never put a hand to Clarke like this. He even still felt sick to his stomach doing it in that moment, but he knew that if the situation were reversed, Clarke would have done anything to stop him from harming the others around him.

He pinned her to the ground with his weight, gripping her wrists with his hands and using his lower body as leverage to keep her legs from thrashing. Normally, his weight was the advantage that tipped the scale in his favor, but what she lacked in strength, she made up for in tenacity. She bucked her body against his wildly, shrieking in his ear like a banshee, blood on her teeth. Dark shadows under her eyes, that he realized were healing bruises, made his stomach churn. Someone had hurt her, and he was going to kill whatever sick son of bitch did this to her, but he couldn't worry about that in the moment.

"Get a tranquilizer! From the med kit!" he ordered over his shoulder, hoping that the others had broken out of their confused daze like he did. As he turned his head, Clarke tried to sink her teeth into his shoulder. He pulled his body away quickly, just enough that he could still keep Clarke safely pinned to the ground, but far enough that she could no longer reach him.

"Damn, princess," he mused, smirking as he recalled many nights where he dreamt of Clarke's teeth and his skin making an acquaintance. He never imagined it happening this way, though. "If you wanted a taste you should have just asked."

* * *

Bellamy sat on a cot in the medical bay, fiddling with the small object in his hand, while Abby Griffin worked furiously around him. He could understand why; seeing Clarke like that was a shock to them all. He couldn't imagine what it must have been like, seeing her daughter for the first time since she'd sent her to the ground to die.

Alive, but reduced to an animalistic version of herself.

She'd woken from her tranquilized sleep with a vengeance shortly after they'd returned to Camp Jaha, fists swinging and teeth bared. Luckily, they'd had enough time to strap her down to the table securely before she woke. They'd brought her to her mother in the infirmary, to treat the wounds she'd acquired in the days that Bellamy hadn't seen her, but no one seemed to be able to get close to her. As he'd watched her thrash against the constraints, he'd noticed the increase of the desperation in her movements. But he also noticed the pain in her features.

Her screams no longer seemed malicious, but strangled, like she was in some kind of pain.

He'd tested the straps himself around her wrists and legs as soon as they'd gotten her securely settled, stepping back abruptly when Clarke suddenly woke with a lunge and barked at him. _Barked at him._ He was definitely going to give her shit for that later.

He turned the small object in his hand, running his index finger along the side of its metallic surface. He'd removed it from a chain around her neck before she'd woken, unsure who he should entrust it to. Marcus Kane stood a few feet away from him, concerned eyes darting between Clarke and Abby every few seconds. The flitted to Bellamy when he felt the younger man's gaze on his profile.

"This was around her neck, sir," Bellamy rasped through the pain in throat as he held the USB out to the chancellor. Abby had advised him to talk as little as possible, to give his throat time to recover from the swelling, but he didn't feel that much pain. Kane nodded, taking it from his hand and nodding toward the door.

"Let's see what she brought us."

* * *

"My name is Cage Wallace and I have a message for the friends of the 100."

Bellamy stood behind Sinclair and a few others as they watched a pixelated video light the large screen in front of them.

"If you don't wish for the rest of your friends staying with us to have the same fate as Clarke, then I suggest you stay clear of Mount Weather. You leave us in peace, and we do the same for you. As for Clarke," Cage smiled, like he was amused by the turmoil that had unfolded in the past few hours. "She was a brilliant subject, one I am saddened to lose and I'm sure you will be too. Once the effects of the drug wear off, and Clarke goes into withdrawal, her body will begin to fail. No subject has survived the effects before."

Bellamy could feel his stomach drop; he'd just gotten her back. Losing her wasn't an option, he needed her too much.

"The river below the mountain is your boundary line," the man on the screen continued. "Should you cross it, we will send two more of your friends to join you."

And then the screen went black.

The room was completely silent; Bellamy could hear the sound of his own heart beating in his ears. He was going to find a way to sneak into Mount Weather and bash that son of a bitch's face in.

* * *

He was in the infirmary again.

It seemed like he spent most of his time there now, watching Clarke.

Things had gotten worse in the past two days. Clarke had lapsed into complete withdrawal, body spasms and fevers wracking her body constantly. She seemed to be in a constant limbo state between awake and asleep, like her body was shutting down, but her mind wasn't done fighting. He allowed himself a small smile; some of the princess he'd landed on the ground with was still there, fighting her way back to the surface.

"You should get some sleep," he heard a soft, tired voice say from behind him. He looked over his shoulder briefly to see Abby setting a metal bucket on the bedside table, dipping a rag into the water. They'd given Clarke fluids and medication through an Intravenous injections, but she wasn't responding to treatment. It had taken Abby a while to realize that Clarke was going to have to fight through this on her own. The only thing it seemed they could do was wipe away her sweat and hope that the cool rags they applied every half hour or so would help break the fever.

"I'll sleep when she wakes up," he responded just as quietly, his heart gripping in his chest when his mind just couldn't help but think the worst.

 _What if she doesn't?_

* * *

"Please! PLEASE!" she'd cried, straining against the leather straps holding her down as her eyes struggled to focus on Bellamy.

She'd woken violently like this a few times, high-pitched screams ripping from her chest like someone had set her body ablaze. She couldn't feel anything except the burning in her veins, the fierce ache for the drug in her system.

It was these times that Bellamy felt most helpless.

He could only stand by and watch her as she thrashed against her constraints, crying and pleading with him, her mother, anyone who happened to be in the room. Today was worse than others; it seemed that she was peaking within the withdrawal cycle.

 _Her body will begin to fail. No subject has survived the effects before._

He sat down abruptly, tightly gripping his hair as Cage's words replayed themselves in his mind over and over again. Tears threatened to spill over as listened to her pleading, her voice growing fainter and fainter as she began to lose consciousness again. This pattern had repeated itself over and over again today, but no matter how many times she woke with a start only to faint minutes later after wearing herself down, he couldn't get used to it.

He rubbed his eyes, trying to get his emotions in control before he was just as lost as Clarke, but the sudden, high-pitched keening sound of the heart rate monitor sent his head snapping up again. He felt his stomach drop to the floor at the sight before him.

Clarke's eyes open and empty, foam seeping from the corner of her mouth as she flatlined.

* * *

 **A/N: Hey, what do you know? Another cliffhanger! Yay! I know you'll probably all hate me if I disappear again before I can get the next chapter to you since I've been MIA for a while, but I will definitely get the next one to you before I ever go incommunicado again; it would be horrible of me to leave you on this big of a cliffy now wouldn't it! Review and let me know what you think!**


	5. Chapter 4: The Awakening

**Title:** Serving A Purpose  
 **Series:** The 100  
 **Rating:** T (for violence  & language)  
 **Pairing:** Bellarke  
 **Summary:** "Leather straps held her down against a cold metal table, constricting around her neck, chest, wrists, and legs. The more she struggled, the tighter they felt, and she felt the onslaught of panic and adrenaline, already working their way through her system. You could only struggle against your constraints for so long before you realized you were completely helpless." Rated T (language  & violence, maybe a lil lemon slice later). Pairing: BELLARKE.  
 **Disclaimer:** I do not own The 100 or anything affiliated with it. I am just a severely bored fan with too much time on my hands. Here you go!

 **A/N: Haha, I suck and I haven't updated this in a really long time, but after watching Season 4, I've realized I am still Bellarke trash and I need to finish this story.** **The next one will be longer, I promise! Just needed to get this small chapter in there to build the foundations for the next few.** **Enjoy!**

* * *

Bellamy wished he would just wake up from this nightmare already.

He watched Abby's hands come together on Clarke's chest, pumping her heart into a steady rhythm as Jackson placed a small plastic mask over Clarke's mouth and nose, filtering air into her lungs. Each time the dark haired woman's hands pumped her daughter's chest, Bellamy felt his own heart constrict.

 _No subject has ever survived the effects before._

"Bellamy!"

At the sound of his name, his head snapped up, pulling him from his trance to find the doctor looking at him expectantly.

"Bellamy, I need you to get the defibrillator off the wall behind you." When he didn't move immediately, she barked at him. "NOW!"

He started jerkily, like a toddler learning how to walk for the first time, the possibility of losing Clarke rendering him completely _useless_. Somehow, he'd steered his body to the bright yellow box hanging on the wall behind him and yanked it from its place, quickly bringing it back to the doctor and stepping away to give her some space as he watched her pull everything she needed from it. Once the charges had been set, they began electrifying her heart. The knot in his stomach felt tighter each time he watched Clarke's body jolt off the mattress, the electricity in the air sending chills down his spine.

They shocked her, again and again. And again.

Until he felt his throat begin to close and his heart constricted. Until Abby's hands finally relaxed and she stepped back, tears falling freely down her cheeks. Until Jackson carefully removed the plastic oxygen mask from Clarke's face, her lips already losing their pink hue.

He felt raw inside, like someone had stripped him of his organs and he was just a husk of the man he used to be. It was the kind of sadness that numbed one of everything; no sound could convey the emotion that was trapped within, no tears could give any relief to the pain in his chest. He could only stand there in silence and stillness, as Abby's hand caressed her daughter's cheek, saying her final goodbye.

"No." The word tumbled from his mouth without his permission. He couldn't accept that she was _gone_. There was no way he could possibly accept that he wasn't going to have his co-leader by his side. This was _not going to fly._

He marched up to the table and grabbed the defibrillator, turning the voltage up.

"Bellamy."

He ignored the voice calling him.

"Bellamy! What do you think you're doing?"

 _She's not dead._

His finger pushed the button, electrifying the charges and Clarke's body spasmed more violently this time.

"C'mon, Clarke," he murmured to himself as he watched the heart rate monitor continue to flatline. He pushed the button again, just before Abby could pull his hand away.

"Bellamy! Stop, you're-"

But Abby didn't finish her sentence; all three of their heads snapped to the blonde girls face as her eyes shot open and she gasped loudly. Her hands grasped at the sheets, her chest heaving as she gulped in large breaths of air, nostrils flaring; it was they were watching her senses literally come alive again.

 _And her eyes_. They had never seemed so clear, staring back at him with the same intensity reflecting his own. Those were the eyes he wished he'd been seeing for the past few days, _this_ was Clarke.

"Bellamy," she breathed, just as she let her eyes close and succumbed to exhaustion.

* * *

Bellamy finally felt like he could breathe again, but he wouldn't feel that way for long.

He sat on the cot next to hers, Abby and Jackson speaking in low voices across the room. They were discussing the options; what could have gone wrong; what state she would be in when she woke; why she hadn't responded to the first set of charges. Bellamy knew it was because he had to push the princess a little bit further to get a reaction, as he'd always done before. Somehow, his old antics had prevailed, and he allowed himself a small smile.

Abby had guessed she would wake soon, it had been a few hours since she'd lost consciousness. At first, he had panicked, but Abby had reassured him Clarke's vitals were regulating themselves, the drug _finally_ working its way out of her system. They couldn't be sure of her state when she woke though, even if she did recognize Bellamy for a brief moment, so they kept her strapped down to the cot for precautionary reasons.

When she began to wake, her eyes fluttering open to accustom themselves to the harsh light, Bellamy called softly for Abby. The doctor and her assistant walked up to the cot just in time for Clarke's eyes to fall on them, confusion marring her features.

"Clarke, honey. How are you feeling?"

The blonde girl stared at her mother for a long moment, before finally speaking.

"Who are you?"

* * *

 **A/N: Let me know what you think!**


	6. Chapter 5: Road to Recovery

**Title:** Serving A Purpose  
 **Series:** The 100  
 **Rating:** T (for violence  & language)  
 **Pairing:** Bellarke  
 **Summary:** "Leather straps held her down against a cold metal table, constricting around her neck, chest, wrists, and legs. The more she struggled, the tighter they felt, and she felt the onslaught of panic and adrenaline, already working their way through her system. You could only struggle against your constraints for so long before you realized you were completely helpless." Rated T (language  & violence, maybe a lil lemon slice later). Pairing: BELLARKE.  
 **Disclaimer:** I do not own The 100 or anything affiliated with it. I am just a severely bored fan with too much time on my hands. Here you go!

 **A/N: Here's chapter 5! Enjoy, let me know your thoughts.**

* * *

"Who are you?"

The words rang in his ears, not processing.

"Clarke, sweetie," Abby sounded like the wind had been knocked from her lungs. "You were under a lot of stress. Try and think about what happened slowly. I know this might be a bit of a shock-"

"What are you talking about? Who are you people?" Clarke's eyes scanned the room, finally landing on Bellamy, the lack of recognition in her eyes stabbing him like a knife to the chest. Her eyes quickly looked past him, down to the straps holding her to the cot, and she began to tense against them.

"Honey, stop struggling. It's okay, we're not going to hurt you. We'll let you out in a moment, but just help us out here first. What's the last thing you can remember, Clarke?"

The blonde girl looked to her mother, then looked down. Bellamy could see the wheels in her mind turning as she tried to remember. Her mouth parted, a small breath of air escaping, almost in disbelief.

"Clarke," she repeated quietly. She looked up, meeting his eyes warily. "Is that my name?"

* * *

Bellamy really wished Monty was around to make a strong batch of his moonshine that night. He needed it.

He thought about what Abby had told him earlier that day when he'd called her out into the hallway after Clarke woke. He'd began drilling her with questions, the desperation in his voice evident, even though he was trying to stay calm.

 _"It's most likely post-traumatic amnesia. Whether it's temporary or permanent, we won't know sure."_

 _He swallowed thickly before speaking again, thinking about his words._

 _"What do we do now, then? Just sit around and wait for her to remember?" his voice grew louder and louder as he spoke, his own anger and frustration manifesting itself in his tone. He didn't want to let Clarke off that easy._

 _"We'll try rehabilitation...but, I can't say how much help it'll be. We don't have control over this, Bellamy," the doctor paused. "Clarke is going to have to come back to us on her own terms."_

* * *

"Everything seems stable."

Clarke merely nodded as the dark-haired woman moved away from her to wash her hands at the water-basin. She looked at the man across the room, Bellamy, they'd refer to him as, only to find his steady gaze trained on her. The intensity in his stare immediately made her look away, a flush creeping up her neck. Suddenly, her fingernails seemed _very_ interesting indeed.

For some reason, Bellamy Blake seemed to hate Clarke Griffin.

Clarke herself had come to the realization that evening while Abby had checked her vitals for the five-hundredth time that day. His dark, steady stare had been trained on her face all morning and afternoon, the heat and intensity of it's weight had her skin flushed since the moment he'd sat down on a chair across the med-bay.

There was a heat to his gaze, an emotion she couldn't quite name, but it _felt_ like he despised her. The way his dark eyes trained on her face, the way his brows scrunched together; the way that his jaw set each time she met his eyes. His glare told her everything she needed to know.

She couldn't help but feel surprised by the urge to capture his features, though, memorize them in detail. They were so different, hardness and softness meshed together. Each time she looked at him, she immediately looked away, ruining her chances of actually committing them to memory, but she was surprised by the pull she felt toward him all the same.

* * *

Bellamy watched as Abby pressed the metal stethoscope to Clarke's chest. From his seat across the room, his view of the blonde sitting on the cot was limited, but when Abby moved around her to measure her vitals, he got a few glimpses of her. He felt her eyes flick to him each time the older woman didn't block their view, the confusion in her glance crushing his heart. She had recuperated long enough in the med bay and when the hunting party came back with multiple injuries, she refused to take a bed if it meant denying someone who had a greater need for it.

"Bellamy," the doctor called him from across the room. His gaze moved from daughter to mother. "Can you show Clarke to her tent? I've got a few more patients to check on before I can call it a night." He nodded and stood, motioning for the blonde to follow him.

They walked down the corridors of the Ark wreckage silently. Bellamy didn't know how to approach Clarke anymore; she used to be the person he sought solace in, asked first for advice. Meeting her glance used to tell him everything he needed to know about what she was thinking or feeling, but now he wasn't sure he could read her anymore. Those blue eyes that he used to think were so clear and crystal were muddled to him now, cold and icy.

He knew she couldn't help it, of course. No sense in being angry with Clarke. However, he couldn't help but feel frustrated with the circumstances of the situation; he'd just gotten her back, but it was nothing like he'd expected it to be. Watching the drop ship door close between them had seemed like eons ago, but it had only been a few weeks. The distance between them seemed even greater now; he and the princess had finally come to an understanding, but now it seemed like the friendship they'd forged had been pulled like a rug from beneath him.

They stepped outside into the camp area, weaving through the makeshift rows of tents, until they reached Clarke's new home, just across the row from Bellamy's tent. He pulled back the tarp at the opening, gesturing for her to move inside.

"There's a bed, some blankets and a canteen in there for you. The electrical lamps are limited, so we've all been sharing, but I've got one if you need it," he gestured across the row to his tent, "that's me, over there."

She nodded, taking in her surroundings. "Okay. Thanks."

Bellamy nodded back, not quite ready to leave yet. Their eyes met, and again, it was too intense. Emotion charged the air around them, and before Bellamy could look away and cut the connection that was nearly choking him, her voice rang out in the small space between them.

"Do we hate each other or something?"

Bellamy was surprised to feel his lips curl back over his teeth in a wide smile, a small chuckle shaking his chest.

"What do you think, princess?"

Her eyes flashed at the nickname, and for one second, Bellamy could see the Clarke he'd landed on the ground with so many months ago.

"Don't call me that," she said with the ferocity of a kitten, and he couldn't help but bark out a laugh, the entire scenario feeling too familiar to him.

"Some things never change, huh?"

* * *

He was on Clarke-detail, which essentially meant he was supposed to watch over her for the next few days while she got her bearings around camp. He'd given her a general tour after showing Clarke her tent, pointing out the necessities around camp: where to get clean water, food dispensaries, and of course, showing her the electric fence and laying down the ground rules about curfews.

A few stragglers had come up to her, asking how she was feeling and she good-naturedly responded that she was doing better, but Bellamy could tell the short interactions were exhausting her. Each time someone spoke of something in the past, whether is be brief or not, her features tensed with stress. He brought her to the canteen, where they stood in line to receive some of their rations for the day, thinking that a little bit of food might lift her spirits.

"Clarke?"

He heard Finn's voice behind him and Clarke, and _fuck, no one had told him yet._

He spun around to see the other boy moving toward Clarke with his hands raised, like he was going to embrace her. The only thing he didn't seem to register was Clarke's rigid form, like the last thing she wanted was to be hugged by this greaseball with stringy hair. She unknowingly stepped back, letting Bellamy's left arm serve as a buffer.

Bellamy stepped between him and Clarke and placed a hand on the younger man's chest in warning.

"Not now, lover boy."

"Bellamy, what the hell-"

"I said. _Not. Now._ "

Finn's eyes met Bellamy's, the challenge in them clear. Violence wasn't his thing, but he'd been waiting to see Clarke for weeks and Bellamy Blake wasn't getting in his way. He started toward her again, elbowing Bellamy out of the way, only to feel a hand grab the collar of his jacket and pull him a few steps away from her.

"She doesn't remember us," Bellamy hissed out quietly, so only Finn could hear. "Leave it."

Finn looked at him in disbelief at first, then glanced over the other man's shoulder at Clarke to see the unease in her features.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Abby says it's amnesia," Bellamy said quietly as he watched Finn register the facts. He realized that his expression had probably looked quite similar when they'd first made the discovery a few days ago, like someone had gutted him.

"How?" Finn's voice seemed calmer. Bellamy sighed, letting go of Finn's coat.

"We don't know. She came back to us like this."

Finn stayed silent, disbelief and confusion coloring his expression.

"What's wrong? Upset you lost your chance with the Prom Queen?" He couldn't help but make a joke at the other boy's expense, slightly delighted that Clarke didn't seem to remember Finn either.

"Fuck off, Bellamy."

* * *

Clarke couldn't really explain it, but she felt a certain degree of _safety_ in Bellamy Blake's presence.

She'd been allowed to roam the camp for a few days now, quickly growing bored with its monotony. The only time she ever really felt a sense of comfort was in the presence of the tall, dark, curly-haired man. He had a way of teasing her to the point of frustration, and rewarding her with enough small smiles to keep her coming back like a masochitic yo-yo.

She'd quickly come to realize that maybe he didn't hate her, that his stares could be so heavy for another reason, but her cheeks heated each time that thought crossed her mind. There was something about his silent energy that drew her in and she often found herself hanging on his words. He spoke quietly most of the time, like a man who was sure of his influence, and didn't need to raise his voice to command an audience to listen: they already were.

When his assignment as her tour-guide had ended, she couldn't help but feel a little nervous.

"Gonna miss me, princess?" he'd said, using that damn nickname again.

She rolled her eyes at his comment, earning a chuckle from him, but in her mind, she was silently responding: _yes_.

What she didn't know, was that the young man joking with her was feeling the same sense of loss, even though she would still be around in the same camp as him. He'd gotten used to having an excuse to be near Clarke and keeping Finn away. They'd decided to keep her exposure to possible triggers to a minimum for now, allowing her to adjust at her own speed, which meant a Finn-free grace period for Bellamy. Abby had laid down the ground rules with Finn while Bellamy had stood by, listening with a smug smirk on his face.

They'd gotten accustomed to each other, and now, being free to roam the camp on her own, she couldn't help but miss her dark shadow. Clarke had been avoiding the other boy, Finn, slipping away at the sight of him. Something didn't sit right with her each time she met his eyes; it was almost like he saw her as a possession to be obtained, a toy.

Much to her chagrin, and her mother's, she still couldn't recall anything. They'd tried various forms of rehabilitation, but nothing seemed to work.

"We'll find something that clicks," Abby had said, her hand lifting Clarke's chin when they'd completed _another_ failed rehabilitation task. Clarke couldn't remember her mother, but she did feel a certain level of comfort at her touch, and she'd learned to stop shying away from physical contact. Abby tried to hide the hurt, but Clarke could see it briefly flicker behind her eyes when she pulled away from her mother's touch.

When she was heading back to her tent that night, she passed Bellamy in the courtyard, watching as he spoke with an older man, Marcus Kane. They seemed deep in conversation, and Bellamy looked angry when the other man responded, his brows forming a crease in his forehead in that way that made the pads of her fingers itch to touch it.

* * *

Bellamy has the revelation one night when he's helping the head of security update some maps.

He finds Miller's father after they finish in their meeting, pulling him to the side in the corridor.

"Do you have any extra paper and charcoal I could possibly borrow?"

* * *

He hears her screaming in her tent a few nights later, and the pitch of her voice has his hair standing on end. He doesn't hesitate for a moment before he's running across their row, bursting through the opening of her tent in the dark. She's already woken, sitting upright on her bed, but her breath is ragged and her eyes are wild, almost like the day that they'd found her in the forest and she'd gone for his throat.

"Clarke-" he said her name like a warning, taking a small step toward her, which he would quickly realize was a mistake.

She pounced off the bed and hit him with the force of a brick wall, and they both went tumbling to the ground. He was prepared for this type of behavior though, expecting it, and quickly had her pinned on the floor, where she struggled against him fiercely for a few moments, until her breathing evened out and she looked up at him, her pupils regulating again.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her chest softly rising and falling. Bellamy couldn't help but stare at her; first in caution, scanning her features again to make sure she wasn't going to lunge at him again; then with another emotion he didn't want to give a name to. He released his grip on her, helping her into a seated position in front of him before he could act on his impulses. She leaned her back against the makeshift bed, and then he stared at her again as she looked at the ceiling of her tent.

Her hair spilled onto the mattress behind her, while she tucked her bare legs into the large t-shirt she must have been sleeping in. She was gorgeous...and he had to get out of this tent before he lost control of his hormones.

"It was just a nightmare," she seemed to be saying to herself. She took another deep breath. "A nightmare...but it felt more realistic."

"Like a memory?" Bellamy asked, his voice gravely with exhaustion. She nodded and swallowed, her face a mask of confusion.

"I don't _know_ if it was real, though." She looked at Bellamy. "It just felt real."

Her eyes seemed to glow in the darkness, almost hauntingly. He felt as though he couldn't look away, like she was a siren, pulling him into the deepest depths of the ocean.

"My mother used to tell me that talking about your dreams might help you understand them, fear them less," he said softly, remembering Aurora gently wiping the sweat from his forehead when he'd wake from a nightmare, her soft voice soothing him and his fears as they spoke about his dreams.

"I was strapped down to a table, and someone was pressing a needle into my neck. And there was pain and pleasure at the same time, like my body was on fire one moment, and then a bucket of ice water was thrown on me the next. When I looked up, doors in front of me slid open, and there was another woman there. But she wasn't moving like a human, she was more...animalistic."

He stayed silent as the words seemed to tumble from her mouth. Her eyes stayed trained on him, like he was the anchor holding her to reality. As if, without him, she would get lost in another dream.

"It was me. I was watching myself," she said quietly, tears forming in her eyes. "I-I don't know what I was. But then the other me started moving, running toward me, if that makes any sense," she said sardonically, a mixture of a sob and laughter marring her words. "And just as she reached me and dug her nails into my throat, I woke up."

The last few mouths words left her mouth in a shuddered breath, hanging in the air between them.

"Alright, so maybe 'talking about it' wasn't my brightest idea," Bellamy suggested lightly. He got the satisfaction of watching Clarke laugh, a small chuckle shaking her frame.

"No, maybe it wasn't."

The moment was short-lived when she made another realization. The thought sobered her again.

"I attacked you, just now. I don't know why, but if that dream was any indication-" she trailed off.

"Clarke-"

She cut him off. "Was I...did I hurt anyone? You know, when you found me?"

His silence was her answer.

"What were you talking to Marcus Kane about today?"

The sudden change of topic confused him a bit, but he realized she was probably trying to distract herself. "Some of our friends are...missing."

"Missing?" she questioned, her eyes still distant as she trailed the patchwork of scrap tarp that composed her tent ceiling.

"That's the only way we know how to phrase it, I suppose. You were the first to come back to us, albeit a little differently than we'd expected. I was trying to convince him to send out another search party, so we could start looking for them more thoroughly."

Bellamy watched her finger play with a patch of dirt that had been exposed through the matts on the floor, mindlessly etching circles and swirls in the moldable soil. He suddenly remembered that he had materials from Miller's father sitting in his tent, waiting to be given to Clarke, but he hadn't seemed to find the time to give them to her. _Now or never, Blake_ , he thought to himself.

"I've got something for you," he said, pushing off the floor. She looked up at him in confusion, but with a slight hint of excitement in her features. "It's in my tent, let me go grab it."

Bellamy came back with his lamp and a parcel, wrapped in scrap materials haphazardly. Clarke had seated herself on the bed, her long legs tucked beneath her and her eyes trained on the package in Bellamy's hand. The small smile on her face was contagious, and Bellamy couldn't help but feel the corners of his own mouth pull upward as well as he handed her the gift and took a knee at the edge of her bed.

"It's not much, but - woah, take it easy there, princess," he laughed as she hastily ripped the wrappings away, revealing a small stack of paper and charcoal hidden within. Her eyes were electric with emotion, her face brighter and happier than he had ever seen since she'd come back to them; he knew he'd waited for the right time to give the supplies to her. She needed it now, more than ever.

"Bell," she sighed his name, and he felt his heart skip a beat. She fingered the edges of the paper, running her index digit over the charcoal, thick black soot staining her skin. "This is perfect. This _feels_ right _."_

Her voice sounded quietly in the tent around them as she whispered her thanks, while her hand rose to his cheek, letting her thumb swept across his cheekbone. Bellamy couldn't help but close his eyes at her ministrations; it was like he could literally feel a tangible connection between the meeting of their skin. Her hand had moved lower, the pad of her thumb skimming the corner of his mouth, traveling below it to trace the edge of his bottom lip. Suddenly, she pulled her hand away, and when Bellamy opened his eyes to see why, he realized she was as affected by the contact as he was.

"Goodnight," he whispered, breaking the connection and slipping back into the dark before he did something he'd regret.

* * *

 **A/N: Let me know what you think :)**


End file.
